They
outnumbered those of any other color three to one.
Among the birds it really seemed as if the little yellow fellows were
in the preponderance. At least, they were until the redwinged blackbirds
and bobolinks, that had nested on the upland, suddenly saw in the
swamp the garden of the Lord and came swarming by hundreds to feast and
adventure upon it these last few weeks before migration. Never was there
a finer feast spread for the birds. The grasses were filled with seeds:
so, too, were weeds of every variety. Fall berries were ripe. Wild
grapes and black haws were ready. Bugs were creeping everywhere. The
muck was yeasty with worms. Insects filled the air. Nature made glorious
pause for holiday before her next change, and by none of the frequenters
of the swamp was this more appreciated than by the big black chickens.
They seemed to feel the new reign of peace and fullness most of all. As
for food, they did not even have to hunt for themselves these days,
for the feasts now being spread before Little Chicken were more than he
could use, and he was glad to have his parents come down and help him.
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